


Friendly Courtship

by shortsassywhitegirl



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Hammertime - Freeform, M/M, Pepsicola, dave strider x john egbert - Freeform, davejohn - Freeform, do they even have any other ship names, john egbert x dave strider - Freeform, johndave - Freeform, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortsassywhitegirl/pseuds/shortsassywhitegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it was because of the way you interacted.</p><p>   He was a quiet person, and typically shied away from touching anyone, a fact that's amused you for years, considering he's so rowdy with the way he speaks. But he would reach out to you occasionally, and gently wrap his pinkie around yours or card his fingers through your hair, but those moments were rare and always fleeting. They were brief, yes, but you liked them, and you had a feeling he did, too, even if he never admitted it. He was always too embarrassed to keep it going long, and it rarely lasted more than a few seconds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Dating

People, you've noticed, always misunderstand things. It was never really surprising when someone said or had even worked up the courage to ask you about something they had assumed. They didn't typically do the second, though, and whenever they did, they either seemed too flustered or too blunt, and both were annoying. Some days you were used to it and some days they were so unexpected that you were left pondering what they said hours, maybe even a day or two after they had brought it up. Either way, they'd always been personal and honestly made you ponder it as well. It was a common enough question, really, one that came as no surprise, and, honestly, you couldn't blame them for being interested about it. Some were even used to it by now. Personally, it was something you even wondered yourself.

You couldn't blame them for being curious, though. You supposed it was a legitimate question, one you, in all honesty, wouldn't mind saying yes to. People came up to you all the time, in or out of school, and you were sure they'd asked Dave, too. They weren't rude or belittling or even the least bit terrible, just honestly wondering. You'd always have to say no. And Dave said no, too, because you were only friends and you weren't dating. And still, even after answering the question, people continue asking you about it. Were you dating Dave? Was he dating you? Were you an item?

It wasn't their fault for asking, and you couldn't blame them. It was something you'd even discussed with Dave, the way you interact with each other; the two of you were far more intimate than others were, even to the point of being blatantly affectionate. You didn't have any problem with it, and neither did Dave, and the two of you had dropped it off at that. It was never an issue between the both of you. You had even gone so far as saying you wouldn't like it if the two of you stopped acting the way you did, and, to your relief, he agreed. So it remained the same as it always had, and people at school had no idea if you were dating or not because of it. Honestly, if you were in their spots, you would question it, too. But, still...why did they think you were dating? It couldn't have been so noticeable.

But...looking on it now...maybe it _was_ noticeable.

Maybe it was because you sometimes held his hand. You liked doing it; his hands were rough and calloused but surprisingly gentle, and they were always warm and his fingers closed around yours, confident and reassuring, as soon as you reached for them. Then again, it might have been because you sat on his lap occasionally and shared food with him. He never objected to it, anyway. Dave had even offered his lap to you more than once, and rested his chin on your shoulder as the two of you conversed with your friends at lunch. And besides, you'd feed him anyway because he liked being babied, even if he'd never admit to it.

You liked it whenever Dave was physically affectionate with you, even if the two of you weren't in a relationship.

Maybe it was because of the way you interacted.

He was a quiet person, and typically shied away from touching anyone, a fact that's amused you for years, considering he's so rowdy with the way he speaks. But he would reach out to you occasionally, and gently wrap his pinkie around yours or card his fingers through your hair, but those moments were rare and always fleeting. They were brief, yes, but you liked them, and you had a feeling he did, too, even if he never admitted it. He was always too embarrassed to keep it going long, and it rarely lasted more than a few seconds. Not that you minded, of course; Dave went at his own pace, and you yours. He was, however, usually okay with you doing things, even letting you kiss his cheek more than once as a joke.

So you didn't blame people for asking things along the lines of you and Dave being in a relationship.

Honestly, you wouldn't really...mind it. Nothing much would change between the two of you, anyway. Kisses would be planted on lips and fingers would be laced and palms would be pressed together and hugs would last longer. Nothing else would be any different, and, honestly, you're okay with that. Dating Dave would be comfortable, in your eyes. It would be...different at first, certainly, and it would take a bit of time to get used to, but you don't think you'd mind it. Of course, if someone had asked you if you'd even consider Dave as a significant other years ago, you probably would have laughed and shook your head. But now, seeing as your relationship had grown over the years and was given time to develop, you wouldn't deny that you'd become increasingly aware of his looks and relationship status. Or lack thereof, with the latter, technically speaking. And you'd rather him remain single or perhaps pursue something more with you rather than someone else.

And so, here you are, seated (or rather laying) with your best friend, blanket curled over the both of you on the couch as you watch a movie. Lady and The Tramp, to be more specific, because you know Dave loves it, even if he denies it. Or, you were watching a movie, until the ever occurring moment rolled around where somehow one of you initiates typical late night Bro Cuddles, and his legs are entangled hopelessly with yours. His arms are draped lazily around your waist and you're pressed up against each other, his head on your shoulder and it feels right. His fingers are gently running through your hair and he thinks you can't feel it but you can and, oh, there goes your heart again, fluttering like a bird in a birdcage. You know he doesn't notice its frantic beats, and part of you is grateful of that. He doesn't seem to be watching the movie, and he nuzzles into your neck just slightly, and you know he's embarrassed about it and doesn't want you to notice because being affectionate is still a thing he's mortified of.

You would usually be returning his efforts with great enthusiasm, seeing as any chance to be moment to Dave is a good moment, but you don't. You lay there and frown, arms wrapped around him, and he seems to notice that your mind is somewhere else after he pushes his face into the crook of your neck with no response. He shifts just slightly, tilting his head up to look at you and he lets out a soft sigh to gain your attention. It works, and you glance down at him and offer him a smile.

"What's your deal?" He mutters, shifting back to lean his head on your shoulder again. His voice is soft and quiet, as it usually is whenever it's a soft and quiet mood. It's a nice voice, different from the other one he usually uses. It's not sassy or defensive or sarcastic or rude, it's just...Dave. He's always had a soft voice, and it was always nice to hear in intimate moments like this.

"What?" You reply, squeezing his midsection briefly to let him know you're listening as you turn to the screen of the television.

"You're pretty fucking disconnected," he says, fingers trailing methodically through your hair. The pressure he adds lets you know by now he's forgotten he's doing it, seeing as he usually makes sure his touch is light. You've never told him you can feel him do it. "What, I'm not interesting enough to live up to your standards, Egbert? You're breaking my heart, here."

You laugh quietly, a habit you'd had for years whenever watching a movie. It never mattered where you were; whenever a movie was playing, you were quiet for fear of disturbing other people. Old habits were hard to break, you supposed. "I'm fine, dude."

You can feel his frown against your shoulder, even though the cotton of your shirt. He draws back only slightly, turning his face to the television screen. You glance down at him and can see the colors and images flicker in those dumb sunglasses he always wears. He's quiet for a moment and you want to kiss him. You bite your lip instead, eyebrows drawing together in thought about, yet again, questions. "Are we dating?" You ask before you can even think about what you're saying. You regret the words almost immediately.

His hand freezes in your hair.


	2. I Don't Know

"I'm sorry," is the first thing that rushes out of your mouth, and you're suddenly as still as his hand is. He still hasn't moved it, and it's frozen in your hair, just as frigid as the rest of his body. "I was just wondering," you add quickly, trying to find the proper way to apologize and explain yourself at once, "considering everyone asks us that all the time." You're much more embarrassed than you've ever been before in your life, maybe even mortified. Part of you wonders if this is how Dave feels whenever someone hugs him because your stomach is more than just in knots and your palms are beginning to sweat.

"What?" He says, and he sounds confused, which is more than you can say for yourself, seeing as you're not particularly sure why you just asked that. He shifts, looking up at you. Well, you assume he's looking up at you; he's still wearing those dumb shades and they made it hard to see where he's looking but his head is tilted toward yours. He stares at you (maybe) for a long while before his hand is slowly drawn away from your hair and you wish you hadn't said anything at all.

"I was just wonderi..." You trail off uncertainly as you look down at him. Your defense is weak even to your own ears, and you know he can tell, too, because he shifts again to inspect you closer as he usually does whenever he can tell you're lying or stretching the truth. You bite your lip, arms slowly falling off of him because you don't want him to freak out or panic as you' d always thought he might. And you know, logically, that he's a calm person, and he won't freak out, but you can't help but think of the worst situation possible. He looks up at you in what you assume is interest; his eyebrows twitch just slightly like they always do when something surprises him.

"Why?"

"I just..."

"Why does it matter?"

His words make you pause, and you frown, looking at where you assume his eyes are behind his tinted shades before glancing away. It matters to you . And if it matters to you, it should matter to him because you're practically the same person. Beneath your clothes and skin and bones and bodies, you're practically the same. You've been friends for so long you can't tell the difference between he and you, the lines crossed over and blurred so much they bleed together. You find yourself missing him whenever he isn't around, assuming it's one of those rare moments the two of you aren't together, and you wonder what he's doing and if he's thinking of you. You already act more than friends should, and you don't see the difference between how you already act and having it only be more intimate than it is and it matters and you want to tell him why.

Instead, you find yourself hesitantly shrugging after a moment and saying, "It doesn't." Dave's lips twitch in that way you know means he wants to frown but doesn't, and you wish you hadn't brought the topic up because your stomach is twisting and flipping and doing somersaults in your body. You shouldn't have assumed...actually, you hadn't assumed anything. You honestly don't know why you asked the question, and you have no idea how Dave will react, especially considering he's got a killer poker face. Even though you've become accustomed to reading the muscle twitches he gives, you don't know what he's feeling, and you're beginning to be afraid that he isn't taking this well and doesn't feel whatever it is you feel.

"Then I don't see why you had to bring it up."

"Yeah, I don't know..."

"It's not like it matters."

Your stomach flips again. "Well..."

He moves a bit too quickly, rolling off of your body and looking down at you. You can still see the lights from the movie flickering in his shades, and with it, your own reflection, and you look just as confused as you feel. He looks as close to frowning as you've ever seen him, and he sits back up on the couch, the blanket falling off and onto the cushions behind him. You sit up, suddenly embarrassed for even bringing the topic up. Running a hand through your hair, you look up at him in perplexity.

"Do you want to?"

"What?"

"Dating. Do you want to?"

This time you're the one who frowns, and you look at the screen of the television, adjusting your glasses.

"John."

You know you've done or said something wrong and now it's serious because you've never really breached the first name status with him. The room seems to stretch longer, a bell setting off in your head. Maybe once, in your entire childhood, has he called you John. Your throat tightens. You can't tell what's in his tone, but it makes things tense.

"What?"

"Do you want to date?"

"...I don't know."

He sits back in the couch, running a hand through his hair. His other hand, the one that had been running fingers through your hair, curls into his palm, and you miss his touch. He sighs lightly, pausing before looking back at you. "You don't know," he repeats, as if to make sure he'd heard you right, and you nod slowly.

"Yeah."

"Then why'd you bring it up?"

"I don't know. People have been asking."

"People ask all the time."

"I know."

"Why'd you bring it up now?"

"I don't know."

"Then why'd you say anything?"

"I don't know."

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know."

"Why?"

"...I don't know."

He lets out another sigh, breathier than the one before, and you can't help but think he seems exasperated with your answers. He turns to the television for a moment, images flickering on his sunglasses before he turns back to you, only to look back at the television. You wonder how he still manages to see through those glasses of his, and you find yourself once again marveling in something he does on a daily basis.

"You don't know."

"Yeah," you say, giving him a curt nod as you bring your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs. You feel uncomfortable with the way things are going.

"Then does it really matter if we're dating or not?"

"I guess not."

Dave nods, as if he expected your answer. You wouldn't put it past him. He always seemed to know what you were going to say before even you did, and you're more than predictable right now. You glance at the blanket behind him, and you feel weird without the familiar weight of him on your chest. You curl your arms around your knees tighter to make up for the empty feeling. It doesn't help.

"Do you want to go out?"

You frown, looking back up at him. "I don't know."

"Do you like me?" He asks, and he seems to be grasping for a definite answer, one you're still not sure how to give.

You hesitate, looking away from him and at the coffee table. There's a bowl of half-eaten popcorn and two cans of soda--one is one-third gone, the other unopened with beads of condensation rolling down the aluminum sides. You had gotten two cans of Pepsi to drink, but the both of you ended up sharing one, the same as usual. You bite the inside of your cheek, giving him a half-hearted shrug. "I don't know."

He breathes out slowly, and he sounds tired. He reaches up to rub his eyes under his shades before turning back to you, settling back in the couch. "Then why would we date if you don't like me?"

This makes you pause, and you look at him in surprise. You stare at him for a few moments before frowning again, unwinding your arms from your legs and pushing down the heavy weight of disappointment you feel. You shake your head after a while. "I don't know."

"You don't know," he says again, but his voice is different.

"I don't know."

"Do you care if we date?"

You hesitate again before answering. "I...don't know." He looks like he's about to say something, but you quickly cut him off, hastily saying, "Do you?"

This shuts his mouth fairly quickly, and he turns, jaw set as his eyebrows knit together in concentration. He picks at the blanket absently, facing the television, but you can tell he isn't really paying attention to what's going on in the movie. His hands are still twisting the blanket in a nervous way you know he doesn't realize he's doing when he answers, "I don't know."

You're both quiet for a long time.

"Do we need to date?" He asks, turning back to you.

"I don't know. I guess not." He falls silent again, and you purse your lips before asking, "Are we still friends?"

He looks up at you, seemingly shocked, and you can see you've caught him off guard. He shakes his head, and your heart drops before he opens his mouth and speaks. "Yeah. Why wouldn't we be?"

"I don't know." Pause. "I feel weird." He nods slightly in agreement.

"Do we have to talk about this?"

"No."

You both drop the subject.


	3. Still Not Dating

And the two of you keep the topic dropped for as long as you can. You don't address it, and, frankly, you're too mortified to bring it up again. You're horrified that you brought it up, period, and you'd prefer to never acknowledge it again. During the weeks that follow, the two of you dance around the topic as carefully as possible. Once or twice it was brought up accidentally or as a joke and once or twice either you or he would respond awkwardly or not at all, and you'd been afraid you lost not only a possible...something, but your best friend as well before he does something to ease your worries, like making a joke because he can tell you're nervous. You'd regretted saying something about it ever since, and pointedly avoided saying anything that may have hinted at dating or anything of the like. And he had too, and you can tell. He's making an effort to be sure you aren't uncomfortable. You're thankful for that.

It wasn't until weeks later, when the two of you were at lunch, that it was brought up again. In your eyes, at least. You had been seated in his lap, as you usually were during lunch, his arms wrapped around you to keep you close against his chest. A tray of food remained untouched before you, and even though he had been the one who complained about being hungry, he hadn't bothered with it as soon as the two of you sat down. He'd quietly buried his face in the back of your shoulder, arms secure around you to be sure you wouldn't fall or slip off of him. You'd been rambling about something you can't now recall with Vriska, who would stop nearly every five seconds to throw her hair over her shoulder, but you could tell she wasn't really listening. Dave was probably the only one who was, snorting or chuckling at the appropriate moment during your story while everyone else fussed over something else.

And, soon enough, you'd lowered your voice instinctively to address only him, seeing as he was the only one listening, and he'd respond in agreement with you before you could feel him plant a kiss on the back of your shoulder. You'd hummed lightly, fingers brushing over his in response to his lips, voice eventually trailing off. He'd stopped kissing your shoulder to rest his chin atop it instead, knocking his head against yours affectionately to urge you to continue and you were both well aware that wasn't exactly friendly but you didn't say anything about it.

You'd been able to feel his breath on your neck and it was reassuring in the oddest way possible, and you'd ghosted your fingertips across his knuckles, smiling as he nuzzled the side of your head just barely. And then you began to think of how different it'd be to date Dave before realizing that it wouldn't be very different at all, and you let out a soft sigh.

You thought about kissing him for the rest of the day.

And then it wasn't until someone--a lowerclassman, maybe a sophomore--approached you, albeit a bit timidly, and looked away bashfully as she fidgeted a bit, that it was officially brought up.

"Uh...hi," you'd say, trying to ease her worries. You honestly didn't see why lowerclassmen were intimidated by you; it wasn't like you'd hurt them or anything, and you were probably the least intimidating person on the face of the planet.

"Yeah, uh..." She seems to be too embarrassed for Dave's taste, seeing as he shifted just slightly against the locker beside you. You glance up at him in amusement, and he quirks an eyebrow in response, lips turning up a bit. You silently congratulate yourself on making him try to refrain from smiling.

You don't want to laugh, but you personally found it hilarious when people like her fumbled over their words.

"What?" Dave asks, a hint of annoyance to his voice. He sighs, turning to the girl, who shifts uneasily.

"I was just wondering...you know." She runs her hand trouble her pony tail in what you assume is a nervous habit.

You stare at her.

"Uh...sorry." You shake your head, giving her a small, apologetic smile. "I don't."

"Oh. Well, I mean...uh, yeah."

"I don't...know what you're talking about," you say, but you feel you're beginning to catch on. A flash of sympathy flickers through you you at her discomfort.

"Are you two...?"

This was apparently enough of a connection for the both of you to be sure, seeing as you blink in vague surprise. But rather than brushing it off as usual, Dave bristles a bit as he steps off of the locker to get a better look at her.

"Are we what?" He asks, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"Uh--well, you know..." She seems even more uncomfortable than before at the aura he gives off.

"What?"

"...Dating."

You stare at her while Dave scoffs.

"Why does everyone ask that?" Dave's tone suggests he's angry, and he's always come off that way, but you knew well enough that he was only exasperated.

The girl didn't seem to tell he was only tired and not upset, and it surprised you, seeing as it was blatantly obvious to you the difference in his tone. But she flinched a bit awkwardly, giving you an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, I just--at lunch, I saw you, and I thought...maybe..." She trails off uncertainly, glancing between you and Dave. Dave scoffed, but you could see his jaw clench in the way it always does when he doesn't want to seem too obnoxious with how he feels.

"We're not," you tell her, reaching out to squeeze Dave's elbow lightly. You can feel him shift into your touch, and you leave it light in the crook of his elbow. "Sorry."

"Oh, no!" She says, shaking her head. Her pony tail sways behind her in a way you find annoying. "I was just wondering! Uh...yeah, sorry for wasting your time." And, with that, she turns to scurry away, and you can see her ears redden in embarrassment.

"We're just friends," Dave calls as her shoes carry her away with clicks, and she ducks her head and hurries off at a quicker pace.

"We're just friends," you repeat in agreement, but she's out of range and can't hear you, and you squeeze Dave's elbow again lightly.

The words leave an oddly bitter taste in your mouth.


	4. Reflection

You aren't really sure just when your feelings for Dave changed.

They'd always been like this for as long as you can remember. You'd known Dave for years, ever since preschool. And even now, you know you won't feel any different. You know you're young and inexperienced, but you're sure you love him. If someone asked you how you knew, you wouldn't be able to exactly explain it. You just knew. It was a complex simplicity, a jumbled mess of emotion and knowledge that you couldn't quite explain. But you know you love him.

You can't pinpoint when the turning point was, when you began to feel less friendship and more genuine affection. It could have been in middle school, when you'd been cursed with braces for the next year and a half of your preteen life, a particularly messy year when everyone was entering what you refer to as the braces trend, considering everyone and their mother had them. You were no exception, it seemed, and you'd sulked after you first got them, while Dave had found it more amusing than anything.

"Let me see them," was the first thing he'd said the moment you set foot in his house no more than three hours later. By then, the anesthesia had worn off, and every brush of your tongue or cheek against your teeth pained you. You'd wrinkled your nose, shaking your head.

He'd given you that half-grin, the crooked one you loved, and prodded you in the side. "Don't be such a baby. Come on, show me those metal choppers of yours."

You'd like to say you'd stayed firm in your refusal, but in reality, you didn't. Another flash of that almost smile and your resolve crumbled almost instantly. You typically agreed to his requests because you knew they made him happy, and if showing your metal monstrosity of a mouth made him happy, so be it. You'd shaken your head, and, with an overly dramatic sigh, bared your newly metallic teeth to him.

In the years before, you'd never seen Dave's lips stretch into a genuine smile until then.

But despite his initial amusement, he'd been surprisingly attentive to your braces. His personal mantra was practically the list of things you weren't allowed to eat. He'd swat at your hand if you tried to reach for handful of the popcorn he'd made for movie night, and he'd cut out gum himself altogether because he knew you couldn't chew any. He'd made sure to skin apples for you and constantly remind his brother whenever you were coming over for dinner that you couldn't eat corn on the cob.

For such an overbearing manner, it was sweet, and you were touched by it, even after you had your braces taken off, and, in a way, you missed them.

But, thinking back on it, you could have begun to develop feelings for him when you were younger.

As far back as you could recall, you'd always felt the same way. Maybe it was when you were younger that you realized it, back when you were a child and he was a child and neither of you were allowed to cross streets without holding someone's hand. When you were eight, maybe nine, you'd been able to cross many streets without a hand to hold, and if holding a hand was an absolute must, you had your older cousin with you during the summers. You weren't too crazy about him, but you didn't dislike him. As a matter of fact, you enjoyed his company; he was the only one willing to play adventure games with you, and he pronounced words in a manner you found silly, but you did like him.

His grasp was warm and firm and he always smiled when you grabbed it, but it was a requirement, and it took him a bit too long to notice you were holding it, and you weren't too fond of having to hold someone's hand when crossing streets. You'd held on to his hand many times before, for many years, but the disappointment of him taking too long to respond to your hand and then holding it a bit too tightly made you at some point take his wrist or forearm as an alternative to his hand.

And so you did this many times, but it wasn't until one afternoon when you'd tugged Dave along as you walked to the park that it changed. For the very first few street crossings, you'd held onto your cousin's hand as you were required to do, but once you rounded a corner, on impulse, you'd reached for Dave's hand. Right away--fingers holding back, palm pressed against yours, squeezing it at just the right pressure. And there went your heart, fluttering like a bird in a birdcage.

You loved him even then.

But you were a kid then, and you didn't know what it meant. Over the years, people changed. They grew closer to you or farther apart, but Dave was always a constant.

So, no, you could never quite point out when the turning point for your affection toward him was. You just knew you felt different, and while you almost prayed every night to God or whatever higher being there was that he'd realize his feelings for you, you didn't mind being his friend. Admittedly, it did hurt, but you'd rather be his friend than nothing at all.

"What are you thinking about?"

You glance up, snapped out of your thoughts, eyes settling on a familiar head of blond hair.

Speak of the devil.

"Nothing," you reply, and he reaches over and squeezes your knee in the familiar way he does when he tries to ease your worries, a gesture you both know is too friendly but neither of you mention.

You try to pretend he touches you because he wants to do so just as much as you want him to.


	5. Parties

You'd never been one for drinking.

You found the whole thing distasteful, and, honestly, pretty unreasonable. And, so, because of this, you were usually the one chosen as the designated driver whenever your friends decided it would be a good idea to go to a party. Of course, that wasn't to say you didn't drink; you did, but only in sips, and you knew to stop when you began to feel a bit woozy or nauseous. You knew your boundaries while other people didn't, and because of that, you were someone people relied on at parties.

And so, here you are, at Feferi Peixes house, surrounded by people you don't really know, quite possibly the only one not drunk off your rocker. As far as you knew about the party, Feferi's mother was out of town on a business trip, and she was throwing the biggest party you'd ever seen yet because of the girls' swim team victory in a tournament or something. And everyone was drunk or getting drunk, some people even in the pool. The sickening smell of chlorine mixed with alcohol made you wrinkle your nose, squirming your way through Terezi and Karkat (who might be dating again--they always dated and then broke up, and you were disinterested in their relationship status by now considering how often it changed), passing through the sliding glass door to search for a particular blond you'd arrived with (along with your sister, and you're pretty sure you saw her making out with Feferi in the pool).

You spot Rose on the couch, still managing to look dignified even though you can see her downing yet another cup of alcohol. You send Kanaya a sympathetic smile, who only returns it, shakes her head, and squeezes Rose's knee before leaning in to murmur something to her. Watching them, part of you wonders what it would feel like to do that with Dave.

You let out a sigh, shaking your head as you resume the search for said boy.

You had a feeling he'd be in the bathroom, but you found a very, very drunk Aradia vomiting in the toilet and a very, very exasperated Sollux holding back her hair and rubbing her back. You hurriedly close the door, frowning, and go to check the kitchen.

Unexpectedly enough, he's not in there, eating everything in sight. No one is, in fact, except for Equius, who looks at you disapprovingly at the drink in your hand.

"It's water," you say, tilting it toward him so he can see the translucent liquid over the rim.

His stern look of disapproval turns to one of either respect or approval, you can't tell, but he nods, so you think he's pleased.

"Have you seen Dave?"

"Yes."

You wait for him to elaborate on where he saw him, but he only stands there, unnervingly stoic. You can see a pack of bottled water beside him on the counter, and it takes you a moment to realize he's passing out water to people.

"Coffee works better," you find yourself saying, but you aren't sure if that's true. You think you read somewhere in health that coffee only made a drunk person more energetic because of the caffeine, but you could hardly care about the facts on the topic right now.

"Excuse me?"

"Uh--yeah, never mind. Anyways, where did you see him?"

"See whom?"

"Dave."

"Ah. Last I saw, he was stumbling his way toward the stairway."

"Oh. Thanks." You give him a small wave as you turn out of the kitchen, and he gives you a curt nod in response.

You know well enough that the upper quarter of the Peixes house is very off limits. There were only two, maybe three people up there at a time during a party, and you expected it was because of Feferi's mother's corporation. You trudge up the stairs, and you suspect either Dave or someone was up there, considering there are spots of alcohol already staining the carpet.

"Dave?" You say, peeking your way around the elaborately decorated railing. He's not in your direct line of vision, but you think you hear him, so you turn to the direction of the sound. You open the door to the bathroom, but he's not there. It seems like no one had been there, considering how impeccably clean it was.

Dave is not in any of the rooms you check. Not in any room, to be specific, since you find him on the balcony in Feferi's room. He doesn't notice you come in, his back turned toward you, feet dangling between the bars of the balcony. You spot two bottles next to him, one being a cheap brand of beer and the other being something you don't recognize, but as you come closer, you see more bottles scattered around him.

"Since when do you drink bottled alcohol?" You sigh, setting your water on the railing and seating yourself beside him. Dave hardly drank anything that was bottled; he always complained that it was so much trouble to recycle glass whereas you could just toss a can of beer in the trash.

He gives an unintelligible grunt in response, before looking up at you and breaking into a smile. "John," he says clearly, but you can hear the underlying slur to his voice.

"Hey, dude," you reply, giving him a smile and patting his back. He hums in appreciation before turning toward you, pulling his legs out of the bars.

"Don'--John, don' ever date someun," he says, and he frowns, looking more distressed than he'd typically be.

"What? Why not?" You snort, shaking your head with a grin.

"'Cause relationships--"--he manages not to butcher the word, and you're admittedly impressed--"--they're so--so dumb."

"Dumb?"

"Dummy, dumb dumb."

"How are they dumb?"

"Bek--beec--because people are even more dumb!" He throws his hands up in exasperation, and you can't help but chuckle at how unusually expressive he is. You've hardly ever seen him drunk, considering he finds himself incredibly idiotic after he's been drinking.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! They--they don' ever know when ya like 'em."

"Like...what, do you like someone?"

He nods before saying, "Somethin' like tha'," and breaking off into a very short lived fit of snickers.

"You...really?" You can feel your heart sinking, and hearing the words actually pains you. "Who?"

He pauses, looking at you for a moment. His shades are laying beside him, and his eyes are more clouded than you've ever seen them. He frowns in thought, scratching his wrist where you can see a mosquito bite is. "Promise not t' tell John?"

You stare at him.

"Y'gotta promise, otherswise--"

"I promise."

He blinks, looking up at you for a moment before pursing his lips in what you assume is thought. "I think--I k'nda--weeell, John's pretty cute."

Your heart stops.

"I--what?"

"Y'know," he slurs, "you look an awful lo' like 'im."

You swallow thickly, heart pattering painfully in your chest. You don't respond, shaking your head instead, and then he's shifting closer.

You don't know what to do, and your body lights on fire when his hand touches your knee, and all you can do is let out a small, "Dave?" as he leans closer.

He's close, too close, close enough that you're sharing the same breath, and you can taste his, the heavy scent of alcohol sickeningly sweet on your tongue. Your nerves are short circuiting, pulse so loud you can't hear anything but the beating of your heart.

You're trembling by the time his lips brush yours.


	6. Dealing With Drunks

You have no idea how to respond, so you don't.

You just sit there.

Dave's hand is on your knee and he's crawling closer, lips soft and sweet against yours. It's different than you'd imagined, kissing him; he smells like alcohol, and the heavy scent of the liquor makes your stomach knot nervously. It would be a much more pleasant experience if he didn't smell like cheap beer and some brand of alcohol unknown to you.

It isn't until he almost lets out a drunken laugh that you realize how _wrong_ this all is.

His lips are warm against yours, almost feverishly so, and you can feel him smiling, and it isn't right. This isn't really Dave and he isn't really aware of what's even happening right now. You're at Feferi Peixes house and it's nearly 12:15 in the morning and Dave is drunk and kissing you.

You feel like you're going to be sick, and you don't really think it's because of the alcohol.

His hand squeezes your knee gently like Kanaya had touched Rose and there goes your heart again, stammering erratically in your chest. He shifts closer, his other hand reaching up to twine in your hair, and you curl your fingers into your palms to keep them from trembling. You haven't moved a muscle, going rigid as soon as his lips touched yours, but he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he seems to take your unresponsiveness as encouragement, and he leans just the smallest bit closer.

You don't really recall ever pushing hin away, but the next thing you know, your hands are on his chest and your arms are outstretched and he looks almost painfully confused, eyebrows knitting together and mouth twisting in either distaste or uncomfort, you can't tell.

"You're drunk," you say, curling your fingers in his shirt to keep them from shaking. Dave pauses, seemingly more confused than before.

"A li'l laq--liqua--liquid courage never hurt anyone," he says, fingers curling in your hair lightly as he shifts closer again.

"No," you say, shaking your head as you try to keep your grip firm on his shoulders. "You're drunk."

"Why're y--"

"Dave."

He looks upset, shaking his head as he opens his mouth to say something, but before he can say anything, you interrupt him again, enunciating the two word carefully.

"You're. Drunk."

He frowns, shaking his head. "But--"

"No, dude, just..." You sigh,shaking your head. You aren't sure what to say for a moment, and you fall silent.

Dave apparently takes this moment as a good time to lean in once more, his lips just barely grazing yours again. It's a soft brush of skin, almost too light to even be considered a kiss, but it makes you jerk away all the same. His frown deepens as you scramble to your feet clumsily, and he almost looks like he's pouting.

"We--I, uh...you need to get home." You swallow thickly, running a hand through your hair in an attempt to clear your head. Your lips are still tingling, nerves buzzing.

"Wha--why?" He says, and you would almost call it whining if he didn't have such a respectable reputation.

"Because you're drunk."

"I jus--I wanna kiss!" He sounds almost offended, looking up at you with a hurt expression that makes you honestly pause before just staring at him.

"C'mon, dude," you sigh, shaking your head as you offer your hands to him.

He looks like he's going to say something before he stops, and you're more than relieved when he clamps his mouth shut and fumbles for your hands. You plant your feet firmly behind you, leaning back as you pull him up to his feet with little difficulty. All those years heaving around bags of flour for your father didn't leave you without at least some degree of upper body strength.

You steady Dave as he sways a bit on his feet, hands clasping yours tightly for support. Or what you assumed was support; even after he's standing and steadied, his hands are still holding yours.

"Dave--"

He shakes his head, giving you an inebriated smile as he pulls you into his chest. You flush brightly, pushing his chest lightly, but he only brings you close and sticks his face into your hair.

"Dave."

He hums lightly in response.

"Dave, get off," you say, more exasperated than anything as you tug yourself away from him.

"Y're no _fun_ ," he scolds, squeezing your hands lightly. You only let out another sigh, shaking your head.

"Come on," you say, tugging your hands toward you and, in turn, tugging him closer. You lead him backward, prying your hands from his. "We're going home."

"'S'dumb," he says, but staggers toward you anyway. You reach for his hand, squeezing it lightly as you carefully lead him down the stairs. He stumbles more than once, running into you and almost sending you both toppling down the stairs with unnerving fits of giggles.

He's so different when he's under the influence of alcohol, and it makes you sad, for some reason.

He tugs on your hand to right himself as he collides with the wall, muttering to himself as you steer him carefully out of Feferi's obnoxiously large house. You spot Jade where you left her earlier, in the pool laughing and splashing a few people standing on the patio who look more irritated than amused at her actions.

"Jade," you call, and she looks up before brightening.

"John!" She grins, clambering out of the pool on the stepladder. The remaining clothes she has on are soaked, and she's drenching the concrete as she stumbles a bit into you. For a moment, you think she's drunk, too, but your dread is erased once you find that she doesn't smell like alcohol, only chlorine. "You found Dave," she said, wringing her hair out.

"Yeah, I'm taking him home," he reply, and Dave leans into you in response.

"'M'tired," he huffs, burying his face in the back of your shoulder.

"Taking him home?" Jade repeats, grin widening. She looks more amused than she should.

"Jade, he's drunk," you frown, and she nods.

"Yeah, I figured. I'll be heading home later, I want to hang out here for a while. There are so many people here that even I haven't met!"

"Yeah, okay. Tell me when you're coming home. And be careful."

"Yeah, yeah, I know!"

She kisses your cheek before you leave, patting Dave on the back before turning to leap back into the pool as you take your leave.

You're more than grateful that you don't live too far from the Peixes'--only three blocks away. Sort of the perks of living in a large neighborhood, you guess, but you found it more irritating now, with Dave bumping into you and snickering and babbling about nothing in particular. You're silent half the time and you humor him the other half, but for the most part, you're disappointed.

Dave knew better.

With all his stumbling, he really does trip on the steps to your porch, but you catch him just in time, and he laughs and clings to you as you right him.

"John," he says, steadying himself by holding your shoulder, "Jooohn--do y--d'you know jus' how _cute_ you are sometay--times?" He grins, and while his words would have normally made your heart take off and sprint across the country, they only make you sigh and shake your head.

"Come on," you say, nudging him into your house and closing the door behind you softlt. You're glad your father is off on another business trip, otherwise this definitely would have raised more than a few questions. You hear a thud and a muffled curse from Dave, and you're more than sure he's run into the couch. You reach out and feel around for him, your hand coming into contact with his back. "Do you remember where the stairs are?"

"Uh huh."

"Alright, come on, Dave." You press your palm against the small of his back to nudge him toward the stairs. He complies fairly well, mumbling about how your hands are nice before you flit to his front, grabbing his forearms and carefully leading him up the stairs.

He thanks you more than necessary, and he makes it to the top of the stairs without incident, and your heart trips as he brightens when you say he did a good job. He pulls away from your hands and heads to your room of his own accord, but you hover behind him, hands outstretched to catch him at any moment if he falls. The last thing you want is him injuring himself, especially in his current state.

Dave collapses on your bed with a sigh, and you're honestly more pleased that he didn't vomit than he didn't hurt himself. You sigh, reaching out to gently tug his glasses off, folding them carefully and placing them on your bedside table.

"You shouldn't have been drinking," you say softly.

"S'rry," he mumbles, closing his eyes.

"I know." You brush his hair out of his eyes gently, moving back to watch him as his chest rises and falls softly.

You shift to stand and make your way downstairs to sleep on the couch, but you're stopped by a soft pressure in the palm of your hand.

Dave's touch is warm, his fingers pressing against the inside of your hand lightly. "Don' go," he says softly, the quiet tone of his voice covering the slurred undertones of it, his eyes slipping closed again. "Please."

You'd be lying if you said you didn't completely melt at his touch and agree to his request.


	7. Not Really The Morning After

You awake to warmth.

In hindsight, that may have sounded weird, but it was more comfortable than anything else. It was nice, a soft kind of warmth that you can't help but burrow closer to. Your mind is still fogged, stuck in a halfway state between sleep and consciousness, but you cann't dwell on that for long, considering the warmth had suddenly (or maybe not suddenly at all, you couldn't tell) envelops you, and you let out a soft sigh, trying to get closer.

"Stop squirming."

A voice--or rather not a voice at all, considering you knew it better than you knew your own--spoke, soft and maybe even a bit strained against your ear. Your eyes fly open, but you don't move, tensing up a bit instead. You come face-to-face with blue.

It takes you a moment to realize Dave had worn a blue shirt last night, but when you did, you flush in embarrassment, the memories of the night before seeping in. Dave doesn't seem to have much of a reaction to being so close since last night, only grunting when you shift, and you can feel him roll closer, pressing your face in his chest. You frown, shifting to look up at him, but he quickly slips his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt. You gasp, the touch sudden and far more intimate than anything you'd ever done before, but before the discomfort and refusal settled in, he pinches your hip.

Not expecting that at all, you jump, letting out a completely undignified squeak. "Ow, what was that f--"

"Shut up." Dave's voice is hoarse, but you can't help but admire how he sounds whenever he wakes up, his voice still thick with sleep. But his words still hurt, and you frown.

"Wh--"

"John, please, shut up." He raises an arm off from your waist, and when it doesn't return after a moment, you look up at him. It isn't until then--seeing him with his eyebrows knitted and eyes squeezed shut and rubbing his forehead--that you light up with realization.

"Oh," you whisper loudly, suddenly feeling embarrassed for being so loud earlier. "Hangover?"

He almost nods, but apparently decides that hurts, considering he squeezes his eyes shut tighter, letting out a soft hiss of pain. "Yeah," he says, but his voice is strangled and quiet. You peer up at him for a bit before carefully unwinding yourself from his arms. For a moment, he seems almost like he's going to protest, but when he snaps his eyes open, he immediately winces and shuts them again. "Where are you going?"

"To get you asprin, stupid." You roll your eyes, shifting up and bringing your legs over the side of the bed. You stretch lightly, stifling a yawn as you stand.

"Hurry up."

"Missing me already?" You grin.

"Like you wouldn't believe."

You watch him for a moment, trying to judge if he's serious or joking like you are, but you can't tell, considering he brings his hands up to his face, letting out an exhausted sigh. You feel bad for him, taking off your glasses--which you'd slept with, you guess, considering you've had them on since you woke up--to wipe the fingerprints off the glass with your shirt before sighing and shuffling out of the room.

Your house is as empty as usual.

You're really used to it by now, given your father's constant business trips. You don't mind it much.

Really, you don't.

You pass your sister's room on your way to the stairs, pausing for a moment to peek in her room, nudging the door a bit open. You relax once you see Jade's sprawled out on the bed, completely knocked out. She's wearing a shirt that's not hers--you have no idea who's it is, but you can tell it's a girl's--and seems to have just collapsed on her bed, considering the blankets are undisturbed beneath her. You roll your eyes once you see her glasses are shoved up to the top of her head, almost entangled in her hair with her phone still blinking on her chest. You snort, grinning as you close her door gently, continuing your trek downstairs.

The kitchen is empty, almost eerily quiet but for the soft humming of the refrigerator. You shuffle to the cabinets, reaching for a cup and filling it with water before setting it on the counter and reaching in the medicine cabinet by the window for the asprin. You take two, tucking them into the palm of your hand as you reach for the cup with your free hand and turn to start upstairs. You watch your step, not wanting to spill the water as you make your way up the carpeted stairway, nudging your door open with your foot as you reach your room.

Dave's just where you left him, but he's sitting upright now, his shoulders rising at the sound of you entering. You figure he tried to move back to see you, seeing as his head shifted towards your direction before he stops, giving you a just barely there nod to acknowledge your entrance.

"Hey," you say, keeping your voice quiet as to not disturb his headache.

"Ugh," he replies, reaching for the glass of water. You hand him the asprin, which he takes gratefully. "I feel like my head's going to explode." You grin, stifling a laugh as he takes the pills and water.

"Yeah, I'll bet."

"How much did I drink last night?"

You blink. "How much? Uh...I don't know. A lot."

He snorts, sipping the water. "Yeah, I can tell."

You laugh a bit at that, trying to keep your voice down as to not hurt his head. "What, you don't know how much you drank?"

Dave frowns, shaking his head slightly. "No. I don't remember."

"Oh." You nod. "That makes se--" You stop abruptly, a sudden realization hitting you square in the head. "...You don't remember?"

"Just said that, John. Learn to keep up." His lips twitch into a small smile.

"You don't remember anything from last night?"

He pauses, lips pursed in thought before he shakes his head lightly, letting out a soft sigh. "Nope."

Your heart sinks.

"...Oh."

"Why? Something happen?"

You stare at Dave for a moment before slowly shaking your head. "No. Nothing."

He looks up at you as if surprised by your tone, and he opens his mouth to say something before he cuts himself off, clamping his mouth shut. He's silent for a moment, eyebrows drawn in confusion. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you say, seating yourself next to him with a nod. "I'm fine." He turns to you, about to say something, but you cut him off with a grin. "I should be asking you that, considering you're the one who's hungover!"

"Hey," he says after a moment, smiling slightly, "at least I don't wear glasses." He seems better now. He's not wincing anymore, and that's good.

"Rude!" You laugh, nudging him lightly.

It's for the best, you think. Nothing good would come from reminding him of last night. It's not like anything would work out between the two of you. It's better if you don't set your hopes too high.


	8. Complicated

In the days that follow, you don't bring up what happened at Feferi's party. No one does, in fact, considering the majority of the people who had gone to her party had gotten completely smashed and didn't remember most things that had happened. For that, you're grateful. Dave, one the other hand, seems to find it irritating. More than a few people had come up to him, babbling about something that happened at the party, and he'd answered with some offhand, neutral comment in response to make it seem like he remembered, but you could see the quiet strain in his jaw that meant he was frustrated.

It was times like those, where you knew he wasn't feeling his best, that you wanted to bring him closer and kiss away all his worries.

But you never do because you always know how to keep yourself under control, regardless of how your face flushed or your heart fluttered happily in your chest at the thought. What happened at the party didn't mean anything, you know that. Dave was drunk. He didn't know what he was doing. Hell, he couldn't even remember what he did. You didn't mind it too much. Yes, it hurt, but you were a big boy, and you knew how to take care of yourself. But sometimes you wished it was Dave that took care of you, that he would wrap his arms around you and press his hand in the small of your back and kiss your worries away.

You always shook your head to try and clear it of thoughts like that whenever they came around, and couldn't help but sigh. You and Dave...well, it was complicated. You didn't mind the fact that you were both males, it was more of the fact that you two were...well, friends. If something happened, if something went wrong...well, you'd be out both a relationship and a best friend. You don't see how you could deal with that if it happened.

But...on the other hand, nothing could go wrong. It would be the same as always with him, but with soft kisses and laced hands and quiet 'I love you's, but you aren't sure if you want to take a risk like that. You would like it, certainly, you would, but...it was just complicated.

"What are you thinking about?"

Your thoughts are broken by Jade, looking down expectantly at you from the couch. Since she'd insisted on flopping down on the couch and laying there with her legs sprawled out, leaving you no room, you were left with sitting on the floor, back against the arm. Like always, considering she was far too possessive of anything she could lay on. The only person she ever let sit on the couch with her was Feferi, and even then, you still weren't allowed to sit on it.

Your sister pursed her lips, raising an eyebrow as she peered down at you. From here, you can see the very, very faint tan lines on her body, like what you're sure is a sunglasses tan on her face. But it's faint, too faint for you to make fun of her for, unfortunately. Jade nudges your shoulder with her elbow lightly, but it still hurts a bit, considering how strong she probably doesn't know she is, and how sharp her elbows are, and you realize you haven't answered her question yet.

"...Nothing," you say after a moment, turning back to look at the television. It's movie night, and you got to choose the movies, for once. Of course, you chose Disney movies. You can never go wrong with Disney. It's dark out, almost alarmingly so, but your irrational discomfort at the darkness is always soothed once a car drove by and your living room brightened, only lit from the television screen.

"Liar."

You don't answer, instead watching the screen. You aren't really paying much attention to the movie, but you think it might be Lady and The Tramp, and it's a shame you aren't paying attention, because you love that movie.

"You're thinking about Dave, aren't you?"

You don't reply.

Jade is quiet for a minute, and, for a brief moment, you're a afraid she's going to poke fun at you, but then she says, "John, you need to talk to him."

You make a face, fingers drumming idly on the popcorn bowl in your lap. "Jade--"

"John," she says, and she shifts on the couch, flipping onto her stomach to look at you. She's pushed her glasses up to the top of her head, and her gaze is sharp enough to make you bite your tongue, falling silent. "This has gone on long enough."

"What has?" You want to turn back to the television, too look away, but you can't, and she sighs, shaking her head.

"You know what I mean!"

"No, actually, I don't."

"All this dancing around the subject! The two of you are just beating around the bush. You have been for years." She sounds exasperated, almost exhausted in a way, and for a moment, she looks like she's supposed to. She looks like an older sister, something you're not used to seeing at all, and it's an expression that doesn't suit her in the slightest, seriousness.

"Have not," you find yourself saying before you can stop yourself, and you turn back to the movie.

"Yes, you have. Don't deny it. It's true and you know it."

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "Jade--"

"John, I'm serious."

For the first time in your life, Jade honestly looks concerned. You can see the slight strain in the lines above her eyebrows, a quiet urgency in whatever she wants to tell you, and it makes you nervous.

"You look at him differently."

You frown, glancing over at her. "What?"

"The way you look at him. It's different from how you look at everyone else."

"Mm." You pick at the remains of popcorn in the popcorn bowl absently, gaze returning to the television screen.

"You're happier with him."

"I guess."

"Your eyes brighten when you see him."

"I have glasses."

"So do I."

"Doesn't count."

"You fidget when you can't touch him."

"Everyone fidgets."

"Not when they can't touch people."

"Liar."

"You love him."

You don't answer, rolling an unpopped kernel of popcorn around the bottom of the bowl silently.

"You need to talk to him."

"Do you think I haven't tried?" You ask softly, pressing your finger against the kernel.

"I think you haven't tried as hard as you can."

You don't deny that; it's true.

"I'll think about it."

"John."

"I said," you say in a clearer, louder voice before lowering it again, giving her a sharp look, "I'll think about it."

Jade huffs, piling her hair atop her hair and secures it with a rubber band, but doesn't push the subject any further. You turn back to the television, and you can feel her shift on the couch, rolling onto her side to watch it as well.

The two of you are silent for the rest of the movie but for the faint scratching at the bottom of the popcorn bowl as you roll the kernel around. You don't really watch the movie; your eyes are on the screen, but you aren't paying attention to it at all, your thoughts directed elsewhere, as usual.

You wonder if you really should bring this up to Dave, relationships. You don't know how he'd react, but, considering it's him, he'd ignore it at first. But, then again, you don't want to strain your friendship by making it awkward, even in the slightest.

Now, you aren't stupid. You know there's something...different with your friendship. You do things friends don't do.You know that, and you're sure he does, too. There's a fine line between friendship and dating, and the two of you have blurred it beyond belief. You and he both know that, but neither of you have brought it up before.

It's this reason that unnerves you. You don't act like friends, but he's never commented on it before. You don't know if it's because he isn't interested or if its because he doesn't see it as important enough to acknowledge. Either way, Dave hasn't hinted on anything even remotely romantic to you before.

Well...except the obvious ones. Especially on the night of Feferi's party. It was a brief moment the two of you shared, yes, but a moment nonetheless. Of course, it doesn't count, considering Dave was drunk, but it was nice. You only wish he wasn't intoxicated like he was. You can't say you...approve of his actions, considering he was inebriated. You love him, yes, but what he did was not only irresponsible, but also bad judgement. Not just kissing you, but drinking to the point where he couldn't remember anything the next morning. You like him better when he isn't drunk or passed out. At least then he knows what he's doing and is aware that all of his actions have consequences. You just wish he knew what he was doing when he confronted you that night. You find yourself wondering if it would have gone any different. You find yourself wondering, for the hundredth time, what his lips would mouth would feel like against yours in sobriety.

You decide it'd be best for everyone if you cleared up your relationship with Dave. Not only would it help others become aware of your "relationship" status, but it'd also clear up things for you. You remind yourself to remember to talk to him instead of avoiding the conversation. It was bound to come up sometime, given the oddness of the statute. And for no reason at all, you wonder how Dave's lips would feel against yours again. Talking to him would no doubt clear things up for you.

You wonder if he'd let you kiss him.

You hope bringing this up won't be as complicated as it sounds.


	9. Nerves

You don't sleep well that night.

You were always someone who slept relatively easy; it was extremely rare for it to be hard for you to fall asleep, let alone take longer than two minutes to get knocked out. You're always a heavy sleeper, and you fall asleep extremely quickly. You don't really recall any night where you had a hard night's sleep, one where you woke up tired in the morning.

But that night, with your head spinning and stomach twisting in anxiety, you don't sleep well at all, and it takes you hours to slip into unconsciousness.

\--

The next morning, you almost debate telling Dave to not come over. It's Saturday, and the two of you were practically inseparable during the weekends. Well, you were practically inseparable any day, but the weekends were when you and Dave could have entire days with each other. It wasn't unusual for him to spend a weekend at your house or for you to spend a weekend at his. Saturdays, you usually woke up completely excited for whatever the two of you had planned, but today is different.

It's...quiet.

Jade isn't shouting about going to a friends house, she isn't flying down the stairs noisily, the oven isn't beeping, the smoke alarm isn't going off.

There's no sound but for the birds out your window and a quiet, almost silent tapping.

It's the tapping that rouses you out of bed, and you rub at your eyes tiredly as you swing your legs over the side of your bed. You fumble for your glasses on your bedside table, unfolding them carefully and slipping them on. You blink as your vision refocuses, climbing out of bed and stretching lightly. The tapping is consistent, a soft noise that you wouldn't have noticed at all if you hadn't focused your hearing on it. Now, it's all you can think about.

At first, you think it's from your window. But you're on the second floor, and a quick glace out the window tells you it's not coming from outside. Now you're curious, and you shuffle towards your bedroom door, opening it quietly and slipping out into the hallway. The tapping is louder, and there are longer pauses between it, but you can tell it's coming from the kitchen. So, of course, you head to the kitchen, fully intent on finding that tapping noise.

When you reach the kitchen, it smells...weird. You're used to the scent of a full-blown bakery in there, considering how many pastries your dad makes, but it smells different. The pastry scent is dull, almost like no one had been baking for a while. Which you guess is true. Dad usually has business trips. One of the perks to being the CEO of a baking enterprise, you suppose. But it's a nice smell, vaguely pleasant, so you guess that's an upside to him going away on so many business-related trips.

You see Jade on the counter, her back turned to you As usual, she isn't in a chair; she's seated atop the marble counter, as usual. Sometimes you think she was some sort of jungle girl in another life, considering she loves climbing things so much. She's nodding to herself, and the tapping noise seems to be coming from in front of her. So, of course, you slip into the kitchen, drawn by the scent of coffee and that tapping noise.

As you make your way over to the coffee pot(which is nearly full, thank God Jade doesn't like coffee that much), you find that the tapping noise is the sound of her nails tapping against the screen of her phone, thumbs working furiously as she texts whoever she's so hellbent on talking to. You grab a mug from a cabinet, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, and you're pleasantly surprised that the coffee is still hot. You guess Jade only woke up recently.

"Hey," you say, setting the pot down in its regular spot as you shuffle over to another cabinet to bring out the sugar. You never had a taste for cream in your coffee, but you did like it a little sweeter than just black, unlike Dave, who seems to love black coffee almost as much as he loves Doritos.

"Mm," she nods, tapping away on her phone.

"Who are you talking to?" You tap in three spoonfuls of sugar, like usual, the mug clinking as you stir it into your coffee.

Jade looks up, flashing you a smile. "None of your business." While the words may have sounded rude, her tone, however, is light, almost playful.

"Feferi?" You guess, setting your spoon in the sink. Jade laughs brightly, shaking her head.

"Actually, no," she smiles, hopping down from the counter. She's still in her pajamas, and she heads over to the sink, setting her cup beside it. You didn't even notice her mug, even though it's flashy and brightly colored and spotted in paw prints.

"Who, then?" You bring your mug to your lips, leaning against the counter. The smell of coffee is comforting, oddly, and it makes you sigh. The steam fogs up your glasses a bit, but you don't mind. You stifle a yawn, looking up at her over the rim of your mug.

"Dave. I told him you wanted to talk to him about something important. He's coming over soon."

You choke on your coffee, which is an extremely unpleasant thing to have happen, considering it's still hot and nearly scalds your throat. You splutter around for a bit before setting your cup on the counter, coughing slightly. "What?" You ask in shock, your voice a bit hoarse from the pain of almost choking your coffee.

Jade laughs, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "Relax, John!" She pats your cheek affectionately, smile wide on her face. "Everything will be fine. I promise!" She seems smug in the friendliest way possible, somehow. She ruffles your hair reassuringly, but the taste of coffee is thick on your tongue, and it somehow tastes bitter. You aren't sure if it's because of the coffee or the newly awakened fear settling in the pit of your stomach.

"Now," she says, turning from you to shuffle in the pantry, "what kind of cereal do you want?"

You aren't sure if you can stomach any of your food, but you say, "Surprise me."

As if she hasn't already done that.

In all honesty, you probably aren't going to tell him. Maybe you'll tell him the important thing to talk about is a school project, maybe lie and say you're thinking of getting contacts and want his opinion on the matter. You already know you aren't going to tell him. You never planned to, and you don't plan to now. But the shock of what Jade was still making your stomach slowly untwist from knotting itself up. You aren't going to tell him, you know, but it still makes you feel nervous.

For the first time in your life, for no reason at all, you're dreading spending a weekend with Dave.


	10. Listening To Your Sister Pays Off

Sometimes you appreciate Jade's concern for your personal life, but right now isn't one of those times.

It isn't that she's a bad sister; she is, she just...has an odd way of showing she cares. You don't quite know how to explain it. She does things without asking you about them whenever the mood strikes her. She's older, sure, but only by a few months, and it usually isn't something that she brings up unless you're either fighting or teasing you, and then she pulls the big sister card. It's something you're used to by now, but...still.

You just wish she'd have spoken to you about it before she went ahead and told Dave to come over and force the two of you to speak about how you felt.

You sigh, shaking your head as you thought. Jade was long gone by now--something about going with Nepeta to see a movie or something, you weren't paying much attention. Your cereal was left halfway eaten, and you don't really think you can stomach the rest, so you don't bother with it. You ignore the rest of your coffee, too, and you don't really think you'll be able to digest anything for the rest of your life, considering your stomach is knotting up in a way that probably isn't even possible. You fiddle with your spoon, huffing a bit to yourself as you think. Why did it even matter how you felt about Dave? You know well enough that he would hardly acknowledge your feelings as a thing and continue on in your friendship as usual.

You don't see why Jade made such a big deal about it. She was being ridiculous, telling Dave to come over in an hour--you never asked for her help in this situation, anyway. Why should you go along with what she did? It's not like anything she's done has ever helped you before.

Well, not really. Jade always had a way of knowing things. It's almost unnerving, how everything she dies begins a chain of events that always seem to correspond with each other. She has good intentions, you know, but you still can't help but feel upset that she didn't confront you about this before going ahead and doing anything at all. Honestly, what was she thinking? Did she have any idea how terrible this experience would be for you?

You're jolted by a clear, "Hey," making you jump but thankfully not let out any embarrassing noise of surprise, and you all but choke on your tongue at who it is.

Dave typically came over earlier than usual (at least five minutes, tops) whenever the two of you had plans, but never this early. He was, what, fifteen minutes early? Twenty? Some days he'd come to school three hours late. You don't think he's ever been so early before in his life, if you don't count being born a few days before his scheduled birth.

He's early enough that you're still in your pajamas and your cereal isn't finished and, when you glance up at him, you're surprised to see him still wearing his pajama shirt. It's an old one, one of yours, actually, but you know he only wears it to sleep. He's wearing jeans, of course, but they look like they were thrown on hastily and he still had bedhead and your stomach is knotting in on itself at how cute he is.

"You're early," is the first thing you say, raising your eyebrows in clear surprise. Dave shakes his head just slightly, leaning against the table beside you. His lips twitch into a tiny frown, but it's gone as soon as you notice it.

"Jade said it was important."

"Important enough to come over twenty minutes early?"

"Really, really important."

"Ugh, she's making a big deal over nothing," you sigh, shaking your head and rolling your eyes.

"What's up?" He turns to look at you, and you want to reach up and brush his hair out of his eyes(shades).

Instead, you clear your throat and shake your head, saying, "Nah, it's nothing. I just haven't finished my half of the science project yet."

Honestly, you think it's a great cover up, until you see Dave pause just slightly, a quiet settling over the two of you, and he says, "I saw you finish that three days ago."

"...Oh, I said science, didn't I?" You offer him a grin, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly as you try and qualm the panic rising in you. "Heh, I meant english."

"We worked on the english project together. We finished it a week ago." Dave's tone is pitched slightly lower, and you know well enough after all these years that means he's suspicious. At least, slightly suspicious. "What is it?"

"Math. Definitely math."

"We don't have any projects in math. It's math."

"History?"

"No."

"No, wait, I remember now. It's definitely art. I mean, you don't have art, so you wouldn't know, but we have this giant project on--"

"John," he says, and you can't help flinching. It's so unusual to hear him say your name in that tone, and you fall silent.

Dave doesn't seem angry, but he seems agitated, at the very least, if not slightly worried. You aren't sure what to say for a while, so you continue fiddling with your spoon, giving him a halfhearted shrug.

"Jade's just making a big deal out of nothing. You know how she gets."

"What, you don't trust me?" He's offended, you can hear it in his tone, and you frown, looking back up at him. You can tell he's trying not to frown, and you sigh, shaking your head.

"Of course I do."

"Then why don't you tell me what this is about?"

"Because it's stupid," you huff, turning back to your spoon. "It's dumb. It doesn't even concern you."

"Yes, it does."

"What?" You glance back up at him in vague surprise.

"Jade said it was important and had everything to do about me."

You could almost scream in frustration about your sister, but you set your jaw instead, shaking your head and looking back down at the spoon you're playing with. "It's dumb," you say after a while, shrugging once more.

"I don't care. Tell me."

"Why?" You can feel a burst of self-defense bubble up in you, and you don't feel like talking about this at all.

"You don't trust me." Dave's tone is more than offended this time, and his eyebrows knit together slightly.

You shake your head immediately, horrified he'd even think such a thing.

"What? No! No, no, no, dude, of course I trust you."

"Then why don't you tell me?"

"It's...complicated," you say carefully.

"Then explain it to me," he replies, and his jaw is set in.that way it is whenever he's stubborn or determined.

You hesitate, glancing away for a moment. You need to be cautious in how you explain this to him. This is a delicate subject, one that needs to be approached carefully. As much as you want to, it won't be good to just keep Dave in the dark about this. You hate that your sister was right, but it'll at least help get this off your chest.

And Dave won't mind. You're close enough friends that he won't care.

...You hope.

"Well," you say, clearing your throat and glancing back at him, "it does...concern you in a way."

Dave shifts a bit more toward you, a sign that means he's turned his attention to you, so you take that as a sign to continue.

You feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest.

"And, uh, I guess it's more like...it concerns you less and is more focused on...my feelings toward you," you say slowly, steeling your nerve.

"...What do you mean?" Dave asks, and there's something in his voice that makes you want to flinch. "As in...our friendship or something?"

"Uh...sort of," you say, rubbing the back of your neck and looking away. You can feel your cheeks grow hot with either embarrassment or nerves, you can't tell the difference.

"What do you mean, 'sort of'?"

"I mean my feelings aren't really...all that friendly?"

"What, you hate me?"

"No, no, I mean...w-well, I guess what I'm trying to say is I don't...definitely don't hate you, but I also don't like you as...a friend."

He's silent, and you swallow thickly, turning your attention back to your spoon and try to will your fingers to stop trembling.

"And, uh...I-I guess I'm trying to say that they're more...more, uh...rom-romantic."

Dave makes a noise in the back of his throat, and your face bursts into flames, hurrying to continue. Your fingers are shaking so much you can't hold the spoon very well, so you curl your fingers around it instead, heart pounding painfully in your chest.

"But--but, I mean, I don't mind being friends, I'd really--I really like being you friend, but, I guess...h-ha, I guess that's obvious, considering we're best friends--what I mean to say is, uh--" You can feel yourself start to work into a ramble in your panic, and you can't seem to stop yourself. "I'd really like staying as friends, since--well,we're friends. Uh, best friends, not just friends, so I--I really want to stay friends, if that works. Like, I get if you get uncomfortable or--or awkward, ha, that's understandable, so I get it! But--uh, I'd really like it if--if our relationship didn't change because of this! I just...I-I really like you--not--n-not like, like-like! Uh--w-well, I mean, I do like-like you, but--but I mean I really like you as a friend! So I'd really like it if...f-fuck, I'm rambling, sorry! I just--o-oh, my God, sorry, I just--don't want our friendship to change over something like thi--"

His lips are on yours before you can continue and your words die in your throat.


	11. I Kind of Like You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no terrible half-assed johndave fic B^)

At first, you think it might be some sort of freak accident.

 

To say you’re shocked would be an understatement.

 

You’re far more than shocked. This was absolutely, _absolutely_ , the last thing you’d ever expected would come from this.

 

Like, the very last.

 

In your shock, you don’t respond much to his lips, instead letting out a completely undignified squeak as your eyes blow wide a bit behind your glasses. Your face flames almost instantly, heart leaping into your throat and pounding almost painfully, and, for a moment, you’re afraid it’s going to burst out of your chest and sprint all the way to Cuba or enter in the Olympics, because it would certainly win, given how fast it’s beating.

 

Dave’s hands move up to your face, his palms settling on your cheeks, which are flushed with hot embarrassment and you drop the spoon you had previously been fiddling with. You barely—if at all—notice the dull ‘ _clang_ ’ as it hits the floor, and you wonder if breathing was even a thing to begin with, considering you suddenly can’t remember how to do so at all. You’re horrified that your heart seems to be so adamant about beating as loudly as a drum in a tribal ritual, considering it’s so loud you think it’s impossible for Dave to not hear it.

 

Speaking of Dave, he lets out a soft, almost relieved sigh against your lips, and you can almost feel the tension melting from him as his palms press against your cheeks softly, and you’re suddenly hit with this strange notion that maybe this was sort of intentional and not a freak accident at all. Your pulse is rocketing in your ears, and your hands are shaking in your lap, entirely unsure of what to do—you don’t know if you want to kiss him back or cry because you’ve wanted to kiss him since what you suspect is the dawn of time.

 

So, naturally, you do neither.

 

Dave notices soon enough that you’re frozen solid, completely unresponsive to the sudden act of pressing his lips against yours. His hands gently press against your cheeks one last time before he draws back, pulling away from the kiss, and your heart nearly stops at that. His hands slowly fall from your face,  and your eyes are still wide, staring at him in shock and surprise and perplexity and astonishment and any other word there is in the English language that could even somewhat convey how utterly _stunned_ you are.

 

The blond before you clears his throat a bit, and while his facial color remains unchanged, you think you can just barely make out a faint flush crawling up his neck. He licks his lips in what you think might be nervous, but you have no idea, seeing as you can’t be bothered to even begin to comprehend how to think again. Dave lets out a slight breath, his hands falling to his sides.

 

Your lips are still tingling.

 

“I, uh—“ He lets out a sort of unnerved breath of almost laughter, and you can definitely see the beginnings of a pink tinge traveling up his neck, and just the thought of Dave being embarrassed—or even knowing what embarrassment _feels_ like—is almost just as shocking as the fact that he just kissed you. “You said—romantic, so I just assumed…you know, maybe that might’ve been a hint to…kiss you.” His tone is, to your further astonishment, somewhat nervous. _Flustered_ , even, and you haven’t moved an inch, sitting as rigid and wide-eyed as you were before his lips had pressed themselves against yours. “You said romantic and, I mean, I guess I’ve sort of been thinking about that for a little—a while—well, for a—a long time, sort of, so I guess I thought it’d be a good idea to kiss you, since I’ve wanted to do that before.”

 

He lets out this little breath to calm himself, his hands curling a bit to press his fingertips against his palms, and your heart is thundering, just barely able to make out his words over the obnoxious pounding in your ears. You swallow after a moment, your fingers shakily uncurling your pants, and you almost feel like the weight of the world has been blown off your shoulders as you watch him hesitate, trying to think of a way to explain his actions, and it’s almost painful, how endearing it is. “That was probably unexpected—sorry, I guess? Except—except I’m not really sorry.” He shakes his head a bit, letting out half a breath before continuing. “Shit, I’m—I don’t know what to say, I’ve never—accidentally kissed someone on purpose, let alone you, but I guess now might be a good time to say that I’ve definitely thought about it before.” His eyebrows furrow a bit, and you can tell he isn’t happy with what he’s saying.

 

“No, holy shit, this isn’t what I’m trying to—just bear with me,” Dave says, running a hand through his hair, but your eyes are on his lips. “Okay, so I think I’m trying to say that I sort of get where you’re coming from. I mean, I’ve known you since, like, the dawn of time, so I guess it isn’t really all that surprising that I sort of eventually wanted to do that weird thing people do to show how they feel about each other and press out mouths together. Like, you’ve got a pretty nice mouth, and so do I, so it was only a matter of time before we eventually ended up doing that because we’ve kind of been friends since the dinosaurs were gallivanting around and you’ve kind of been, like, this universal constant through all the shit that goes on and I appreciate you buying me french fries at McDonald’s because that’s a pretty cool thing to do and I guess what I’m trying to say is I sort of like how you make stupid noises whenever we watch Saw or something because you’re a massive baby but you’re kind of cute in a way that makes me want to touch your mouth with mine and I guess I might’ve jumped the gun by kissing you instead of saying something first or telling you I think it’s cool how you feel romantically instead of friendship-y because I’m sort of in the same boat as you considering I kind of—“

 

But his words are cut off abruptly as you breathe out this sort of strangled little, “Shut up,” reaching for the front of his shirt to yank him forward, pressing your lips firmly against his in both an effort to stop his rambling and because you want to kiss him and actually understand what’s happening, and it’s like this little burst of energy kick starts your heart once your lips connect again.

 

He makes what you think—if thinking is a thing you can even do anymore—is surprise in the back of his throat, and your eyes close almost instantly as your lips touch his, and you curl your hand tighter into his shirt, leaning up in your seat to kiss him easier, and he doesn’t react for a good few seconds before he’s shuffling closer, his lips pressing back against yours, and you muffle this little noise of either relief or desperation against his mouth because you’ve wanted this for _so long_ , and now that it’s actually happening, you almost feel like crying.

 

His lips are soft against yours—warm and soft and smooth and every bit as wonderful as you imagined them to be, if not more, and they fit almost perfectly against yours as he kisses you back, and you’re melting in practically no time at all. There’s no doubt in your mind that your mind that your knees would have gone weak if you were standing, and your grip on his shirt loosens as you lean up to kiss him properly. Dave lets out this soft, content breath against your lips, and his arms are winding around your neck as he leans closer, your hands finding purchase in the back of his shirt.

 

Your heart is fluttering again, skipping in your chest and an almost burst of warmth floods through you as one of his hands laces in your hair, curling so much more affectionately and gently that you could have ever dreamed, and your kitchen could have been exploding around you and you wouldn’t have noticed at all. Dave’s other hand comes up to your cheek, and you let out this slow, happy breath against his lips as his thumb softly brushes against the apple of your cheek, and it sends these small  pulses of warmth throughout you. You lean in, Dave doing the same, and your heart kicks into gear as you tug him a bit closer, your lips moving gently and perfectly and wonderfully in tune with his, and you work up a rhythm as your lips move against each other, and you feel like you can kiss him for hours.

 

At least, you could, had it not been for the light clink of your glasses against his as you both lean in.

 

Your lips stretch into a smile almost against your will, and you can just feel Dave’s almost do the same, his lips twitching just slightly against your own as you sort of reluctantly draw the kiss out, parting from his lips, only to have him lean forward to plant a few more soft kisses against your lips. You let out a quiet, happy little laugh, lips stretching into a wide smile as you press your forehead against his, your fingers curling in the back of his shirt to keep him close. Dave lets out a laugh of his own—a little string of breaths, his lips twitching just slightly as your eyes flutter open, your heart stuttering happily in your chest.

 

Your hands drift from the back of Dave’s shirt, coming up to the sides of his shades, and he doesn’t object when you carefully slide them up and to the top of his head so you can look at him properly, and your stomach twists and knots itself into a bow as your eyes meet his, and you can’t help but smile. You can feel your face grow warm once more as his thumb gently brushes along your cheek, his fingers curling lightly in your hair with his other hand, and your chest explodes with butterflies in record time.

 

“So I kind of like you,” Dave pipes up a bit quietly after a moment, his lips twitching into a small but genuine smile, and you can’t help but let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head lightly before you gently press your nose against his. His thumb rubs small circles into your cheek methodically, his other hand drifting down from your hair to press against your other cheek, and he cradles your face lightly, leaning in to kiss your nose gently. You roll your eyes, bringing your hands up to tug him a bit closer, grinning as you let out a quiet laugh.

 

“Shut up,” you reply, still laughing slightly as you lean in to kiss him again, and part of you thinks your heart will never return to its typical, normal heart rate, because it definitely isn’t going to calm down anytime soon.


End file.
